


Cracks in the Glass: Mordin Solus

by TwinKats



Series: Cracks [2]
Category: Homestuck, Mass Effect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:10:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mordin Solus was Chosen, not that he was even aware of it.</p><p>Character Focus Mordin, within the Cracks universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracks in the Glass: Mordin Solus

“Every time we’ve talked about this before you defended the Genophage!” Shepherd snapped, following him as he moved towards the elevator. “Hell I had to talk you into saving Maelon’s data! How can you change your mind now?”

Mordin turned, fury lined within every jerky movement. “I made a _MISTAKE!_ ” he yelled and then shook his head. The disappointment on his face, directed at himself and all he did wrong. All that fury bled out of him and he slumped. “I made a _mistake_. Focused on big picture. Big picture made of little pictures. Too many variables!”

She watched, like always, as they stood opposite one another. How many times had this very scene, in all its variables, played before her? How many times had she watched, unable to interfere?

“Can’t hide behind statistics. Can’t ignore new data. My responsibility.” Mordin practically vibrated now, in urgency and despondency. “Need to go! Running out of time!” But, like everything else, that bled away too into a calm acceptance, _understanding._

Sometimes it amazed her how much Salarians felt in any given moment, and how quickly it passed. Perhaps that was why she was always there, always watching in the shadows, seeing all the ways his life could be _because_ no matter what, she felt proud. Proud of his achievements, of his accomplishments, of what and who he has become.

“Mordin this whole thing is coming apart! There has got to be another way!” Shepherd tried to reach out and grab Mordin, perhaps talk _sense_ into the Salarian.

She wanted to laugh. He was seeing _sense_ for the first time, clear as day, there would be no talking him down. She wanted to cry.

“Remote bypass impossible. STG countermeasures in place. No time to adjust cure for temperature variance,” Mordin refuted, plain and simple. Factual. He looked down, and then back at Shepherd resolute. “No. No other option. Not coming back. Suggest you get clear. Explosion could be...problematic.”

It looked even like Shepherd wanted to laugh, in some ways. How had he grown into this? This boy, now an old man, ready to end his own life to correct a mistake, to save even that of his companions.

“Mordin, no.”

He was in the elevator now, the turmoil of emotions at their end. He was full of determination. Mordin almost smiled as he said, “Shepherd, please. Need to do this. My project. My work. My cure. My responsibility.” There was a moment where he did smile, and an almost laugh escaped him. “Would have liked to run tests on the seashells.”

She saw the moment when the human accepted it, realized it was futile, that Mordin could not be stopped. She felt her heart break.

“I’m sorry,” Shepherd said.

“I’m not. Had to be me,” Mordin turned, started the elevator. “Someone else might have gotten it wrong.”

She followed him up into the Shroud, into the control room. She ignored the hand, touching her arm in comfort. Oh how it hurt her to watch these last moments, of the one she saw most of herself in. Her _chosen_....not that he ever knew. In his mind he was just another Salarian among a large batch of Salarians. He wasn’t. He never would be.

She had watched him since his time within her clutch, a simple egg just waiting to hatch. Out of that entire batch she could remember being drawn to his egg. Her spindly fingers would stroke along the harden shell as she told him about the world, about the information that would reach her ears, about the songs and the stars and the wondrous beauty that was within it.

He had been _hers_ first and foremost. His brilliant mind, his desire for knowledge, his want to help and heal--he had been _hers_. Out of his siblings, she had imprinted upon him the most and perhaps that was why out of all of her children, she watched him closely. Perhaps he even knew she was always there, keeping an eye on him and approving, although unaware to the true extent of how much she knew.

 _Mordin Solus_. It was a name she would never forget, could never forget. She blessed him, loved him, gave him everything that was hers _and with it he became great._ It was more than fate’s own decree that he would meet Shepherd, more than anything that he would fight alongside the human for all races when the Reapers came. It was more than machinations or foreplanning or forethought because really who could have thought of _this?_

The grip on her arm tightened for just a second, and then let go. It was her only warning, her only sign. She stepped forward, breathed in deeply, and spoke.

“Mordin Solus.”

Mordin, who was ready to accept death, ready to go, done with his adjustments and counter-actions against the STG’s sabotage--who even _expected_ a fiery explosion within seconds, turned. His tune faltered, the very song he sang for Shepherd once, and his eyes widened. A part of him went pale, twisted sick at the voice. Vertigo swamped Mordin as his eyes laid upon the one form that _should not be here._

“Impossible,” he breathed. “Dalatress Serik?”

“Come, Mordin. Come home with me.”

She reached out a hand, smiled beneath her hood, clothed in brilliant golds with a motif of a sun across her chest. Her smile didn’t even falter at the horror, the shock across Mordin’s face. She knew that for once the emotions within him stuck like the sick, burning feeling of a knife in his gut. They twisted, turned and churned and made him feel just ill with the thought of her there, in danger. They wouldn’t leave.

“No! Must be hallucinating. Can’t be here. Impossible!” Mordin shook his head, emotions broiling within turmoil that seemed never ending, an unease that demanded his attention.Something was horribly wrong. His eyes darted to the Shroud controls, only to stare in ill-shock and surprise at the frozen state of the flames around him. How had he not see that before?

“I can only hold this space for so long. You need to hurry up, or forget this endeavor entirely, Aran.” Mordin turned again, his emotions broiling to a crescendo as a Quarian, dressed in red, shimmered into existence next to the Dalatress.

“A Quarian?” he said. “Must be hallucinating. Or dead. Is this death?” He laughed, slightly hysterical. Oh he was losing his mind!

The Dalatress smiled, comfort and peace seemed to radiate from her but it didn’t calm Mordin. It made his emotions fluctuate and his mind race even faster. She stepped towards him, placed a hand on his shoulder. She spoke, “Sometimes, Mordin Solus, you must have faith. It is time to go home, child.”

“No, impossible,” Mordin interrupted. A part of him wanted to be violently ill right now. He squashed it down. _One cannot be ill in front of a Dalatress, damn you._ “You’re on Sur’Kesh. Home. Safe. Protected. Secret,” he continued, frantic. This had to be some sort of hallucination. He had to be imagining things. If she were _here_ then... _no, no nonononono._

Mordin shook his head, mind working several miles a minute. Here he had been ready, he’d undone the wrongs he’d perpetrated, he’d saved the Krogan and was at peace with himself. Now he was hallucinating the Salarian’s best kept secret, their most beloved Dalatress, stood here with a Quarian ready to save his life or die in the attempt. He’d finally gone mad.

“Aran, you need to hurry,” the Quarian said, buckling down onto one knee. Mordin blinked and suddenly it made sense what she was doing, standing there with her hands splayed out. She was holding up some kind of red cog-shaped barrier that he couldn’t see before. “I cannot hold Time for much longer. Not without Mara boosting me.”

“It’s alright Adia, we’re going,” she said, and gave Mordin another smile, one that stopped his racing thoughts, his beating heart and soothed the churning, roiling emotions he felt within. “Aren’t we, my son.”

Mordin faltered, opened his mouth, closed it, breathed in and opened it again before freezing. He felt calmer, less intense and terrified, perhaps he’d finally processed the emotions then? But no, he couldn’t find the words he wanted to say, think what he wanted to think. Shock had finally hit him, and it hit him hard enough that he took a second, hesitant and so unlike himself, to ask, “...will I see her again?”

“You will see them all soon enough,” Dalatress Serik uttered. Her sentence was strangely put, it insinuated something sinister although Mordin didn’t perceive it that way. Instead he took comfort in the words, relaxed, calmed. His mind was carefully blank now, once more at peace with himself and his choices.

“Then...I’m ready to go home. Mother,” Mordin replied.

The world flashed red, and the Shroud control room exploded.

**Author's Note:**

> A few quick notes about characters not seen in Mass Effect:
> 
> Dalatress Aran Serik -- Salarian's best kept secret, and best guarded Dalatress -- this will eventually be explained in Crack in the Glass -- she is Aranea Serket
> 
> Adia - Adia'Danna nar Omega -- she is Aradia Megido  
> Mara - Mara'Danna nar Omega -- she is Demara Megido
> 
> This was mostly written in a response to my raging fury at Mordin's death. I wanted to fix it, and came upon an interesting plot idea for Crack in the Glass, that expanded into its own mostly introspective look into specific characters. This one being Mordin, and how I liken him to being the most similar to a Sylph of Light [healing class of the aspect of light] and thus, bearing connection to Aranea.
> 
> Thus born the 'Chosen' plot idea, which will be partially explained here, mostly explained in Crack in the Glass. Until then this little sidetrip will be mostly confusing.


End file.
